


Loving Myself (Because of Loving You)

by benjji2795



Series: Loving Myself (Because of Loving You) [1]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Getting Together, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Kent Parson Happiness Porn, M/M, Patater Week, PataterWeek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-06
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-22 11:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9605087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/benjji2795/pseuds/benjji2795
Summary: Kent feels like he’s going to puke once he puts the pieces together.  He doesn’t need to know thewordsVolkov is saying to knowwhathe’s saying.  He should’ve expected that Volkov was going to have a hair-trigger, that he was going to explode eventually.  He can’t go five minutes without being a homophobic dick to him, why should things be any different with the newly out Falconers players?





	

**Author's Note:**

> So hey, it's the first day of Patater week woohooooo!!!!!! I'll be honest, I originally planned to be very involved this week, because I just love stuff like this, but then my slow-ish writing pace and my terrible motivation struck and I got exactly one fic--this one--done for this week. Though this will be my only contribution, I'll be helping to get the week started off with a bang, and I'll be reblogging plenty of fics and art on [my tumblr](http://benjji2795.tumblr.com), so be sure to check out what's happening over there.
> 
> A big thanks to [derekpoindexter-williamnurse](http://derekpoindexter-williamnurse.tumblr.com/) for proposing this week, setting the topics and promoting it and all that, and giant, huge thanks to my two best friends [Jay](http://bahoreal.tumblr.com) and [Senia](http://cakemakethme.tumblr.com) for their support, inspiration, and patience with me. I appreciate you both so much <3333.
> 
> So yes, this is a get-together fic for day one, but it's also self-indulgent Kent Parson happiness porn. Hope y'all enjoy! :)

Kent wakes up early on the morning of an off-day because his phone starts vibrating.  And vibrating.  And fucking vibrating.

 

Kent rolls over onto his stomach and smashes his face into his pillow, groaning loudly.  He hates it when this happens, because phone usually only starts blowing up for one of three reasons: A) one of the younger guys new to the league hasn’t learned to stay away from ESPN yet and saw a trade rumor involving them (and are therefore freaking out), B) someone was actually traded to another team, or C) someone suffered a serious injury.

 

Out of those choices, it’s likely A or B, since no one got seriously hurt in last night’s game, there wouldn’t be an injury news to report.  And really, it’s probably A because the Aces don’t really trade players.  Nicholas Hammond, the Aces General Manager, and John Cain, the Aces head coach, prefer tweaking the roster during the season through call-ups.  Which means now he has to calm down some freaked out kid when he’s not even fully awake.

 

Letting out one last groan, Kent flips back over and picks up his phone.  He’s about to blindly swipe it open, when he notices the top texts on his lockscreen is from Jeff, which causes Kent to do a double-take.  Jeff doesn’t text him if it’s a matter of a trade rumor—he’s been around long enough to know like Kent to not even look at sports news during this time of the year.  Clearly, something bigger is happening.

 

Kent sits up, suddenly very awake as he unlocks his phone.

 

**Messages with Jeff**

**_Jeff:_ ** _Parse_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _Kent_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _Dude, wake up!_

**_Kent:_ ** _I’m up I’m up_

 **_Kent:_ ** _What the hell is going on that you’re texting me this early on our off-day?_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Bro, go turn on your TV_

**_Kent:_ ** _Seriously Jeff, what the fuck is the big deal???????_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Just turn to Sportscenter ffs_

**_Kent:_ ** _Alright fine_

Kent rolls out of bed, blearily stumbling out to the living room.  He seizes the remote off the coffee table and presses power, the TV turning on with ESPN already up.  As Kent’s eyes adjust to the sudden brightness in his otherwise dark living room, he’s almost positive he’s seeing things.

 

**BREAKING: Zimmermann, two other Falconers come out as LGBT**

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _Jeff_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Tell me I’m still dreaming_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Say something crazy that will wake me up_

**_Jeff:_ ** _You’re not dreaming_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _This is totally 100% real_

**_Kent:_ ** _Okay wait_

 **_Kent:_ ** _They’re not showing the press conference right now_

 **_Kent:_ ** _Who are the other two guys?_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Mashkov (!!!) and Karlsson_

Kent nearly drops his phone.  This is—holy _fuck_.

 

 **_Kent:_ ** _Jeff you better already be on ur fucking way over here_

**_Jeff:_ ** _Way ahead of you_

 **_Jeff:_ ** _I’m already standing outside your apartment_

 

Kent crosses the length of the living room in just a few steps, reaching his front door and yanking it open.

 

“Okay so I have to ask, since you actually know these guys,” Jeff says as she steps into Kent’s apartment.  “Did you have any clue about any of this?”

 

“What, that they were queer, or that they were having this press conference?” Kent replies, trailing after Jeff into the living room.

 

“Both.”

 

Kent shrugs.  “Well obviously I knew about Zimms, and with Tater—well, now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure he told me he was bi once.  But we were both piss-drunk and I kinda wasn’t sure if it was real or a dream and it never came up again so I just—wrote it off I guess,” he answers, plopping down on the couch.  “And I had no idea about the goalie but I guess like, I had my suspicions.”

 

“Hmm, okay,” Jeff says, nodding thoughtfully.  “And what about the press conference?  Did anyone tell you?”

 

Kent shakes his head.  “No one said a word to me,” he says.  “But it wasn’t exactly my business either, even if Jack and Tater are my friends.”

 

“No yeah, you’re right,” Jeff says quietly, sitting down softly next to Kent.  “I was just curious if you knew.”

 

“Well, I didn’t Jeff,” Kent snaps.  “I would’ve told you if I did.”

 

“Are you upset they didn’t tell you?” Jeff asks.

 

Kent scoffs.  “Yeah right, like I give a fuck,” he says, picking at a loose flap of skin on his thumb.

 

“Well you give a fuck about _something_ with this,” Jeff says, putting a hand on Kent’s shoulder.  “Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so irritated.”

 

“Listen Jeff, it’s nothing,” Kent mumbles.  “Just leave it alone.”

 

“It’s funny that you think I’m just gonna let you avoid this,” Jeff says.  “We’ve been friends for too long Kent.”

 

“Look, it has nothing to do with Jack or Tater,” Kent responds.

 

“So it’s—Karlsson is who you have problem with?  Is he like your ex?  I didn’t think you knew him,” Jeff questions.

 

“He’s not my ex,” Kent sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose.  “I swear I’ve talked to him like maybe once.”

 

“Then what is it?”

 

“Don’t you think that if I could’ve told you, I would’ve by now?” Kent retorts sharply.  “I can’t say anything about it to you or Swoops or Mac or even Tater!  I can’t talk about it with anyone currently playing in the NHL, otherwise management would have my fucking head!”

 

“So it’s something management did,” Jeff says, frowning deeply.

 

“No, it’s— _shit_ ,” Kent swears, leaping up to pace back and forth across the carpet.  Just by mentioning management, he revealed too much—at least, too much for someone as smart as Jeff.  He can connect the dots.  “Okay fine, it is something they did, but I’m serious, I _can’t_ talk about it.”

 

“You don’t have to talk about it, I already know,” Jeff comments coolly.

 

Kent’s eyebrows nearly shoot up to his hairline.  “You—you do?” he asks uncertainly.

 

“Yeah,” Jeff says, standing up and walking over to him, slinging an arm around his shoulders.  “You’re frustrated and upset because those guys came out and management won’t let you.”

 

“Oh.  Y-yeah, that’s—that’s it,” Kent stutters, breathing out a sigh of relief, because that is something they did, but it’s not really the worst thing.  Though, if anyone found out the worst thing, he’d be dead even if it wasn’t him who spilled the beans.  Management would assume it was him anyway.

 

“It’s not like I haven’t noticed how antsy you’ve been since the team found out,” Jeff says.  “And I figured you probably were wanting to come out, which had to mean the only reason you weren’t was because management wouldn’t let you.  It wasn’t that hard to guess.”

 

“Ha, yeah,” Kent chuckles nervously.

 

“But I mean,” Jeff starts to say as he guides Kent back to the couch.  “Now that there are other out guys, I think they might change their minds.”

 

“I’m not counting on it,” Kent says, shaking his head.

 

“Are you even going to ask?”

 

“No,” Kent answers.

 

Jeff sighs.  “I really think you should at least ask,” he says.

 

“They’ve made it clear that as long as I’m still associated with the organization, they don’t want it happening,” Kent confesses.  “They’re more concerned about like, fucking ticket sales and merchandise than how being in the closet affects me.”

 

“How could they be worried about that?  Nevada is totally a liberal state,” Jeff points out.

 

Kent laughs bitterly.  “You’re forgetting that the NHL’s biggest demographic, by far, is straight, white, socially conservative cis-males.  Every single decision a team makes is based around that fact, and most will go great fucking lengths to make sure that that demographic isn’t even the slightest bit offended.”

 

“Then how do you explain what the Falconers just did?” Jeff questions, cocking his head to the side slightly, like he always does when he’s insisting on Kent backing up something he said.

 

“I bet in about six months, everyone in that front office will regret letting those guys do that,” Kent claims.

 

“You can’t know that,” Jeff says.  “No one knows how this will help or hurt the Falconers.  Sure, it’s a huge risk.  But every decision a team makes is a risk of some magnitude and—”

 

“And the Aces won’t even consider the risk,” Kent interrupts bitingly.  “It’s not worth fighting and it’s not worth getting upset about, okay?  I’m—I’m fine.”

 

“No, you’re really not,” Jeff counters softly.

 

“Well I have to be, okay?” Kent says.

 

“Kent—”

 

“So we’re playing the Falconers tomorrow,” Kent continues over Jeff’s objection.

 

Jeff stares at him for a long moment before squeezing his eyes shut and sighing.  “Yeah, we are,” he says.  “Are you saying you think we need to address this with the guys?”

 

Kent shrugs.  “I mean, that’s not exactly what I was thinking,” he says.

 

“What were you thinking then?” Jeff questions.

 

Kent shrugs again.  “I was thinking that we should just like, let the guys talk or whatever,” he explains, “and only get involved if someone is being like super shitty about it.”

 

Jeff rolls his eyes.  “Kent, you know the only one who’s going to be vocally shitty about it is Volkov.”

 

Kent throws his head back and sighs softly.  “Shut up, you don’t need to remind me.”

 

“So this—this _strategy_ ,” Jeff says slowly.  “I hope it involves finally standing up to Volkov and calling him out.”

 

“It doesn’t,” Kent answers.  “It involves speaking up and calling out everyone _except_ Volkov.  Which you know basically means not calling anyone out, because Volkov is the only one who will say shit.”

 

“Kent,” Jeff sighs.  “Kent, you can’t let him continue to shit all over you.”

 

“I can, and I will.  I’m dealing with it just fine,” Kent retorts, somewhat more sharply than he means to, but Jeff keeps pushing him to violate the status quo and he won’t. He just _won't_.

 

“ _Fuck_ , Kent—”

 

“What do you think is going to happen if I call out Volkov on his homophobia?” Kent challenges.  “He’s our second-best player and management alr—I mean, do you think management is going to back me up?”

 

“Well no but—”

 

“And what about the three quarters of the locker room that will say out loud they don’t care and then give me uncomfortable looks, hmm?  All that leaves me with as back-up if I do go after Volkov is you, Swoops, Felix and Mac,” Kent fumes.

 

“And we would be happy to—”

 

“Yeah, I know you would, but I’m on—well I don’t need management pissed off at me because I created a giant rift in the locker room!” Kent counters loudly.

 

“Kent—”

 

“Just let me fucking handle it my way, okay?” Kent snaps angrily.  “Just stay the fuck out of it!”

 

“Alright, alright!” Jeff says, throwing his hands up in surrender.  “I’ll stay out of it!”

 

“Thanks.”

 

“But are you really sure that we shouldn’t say anything?  Not even a ‘stay focused’ for the younger guys?” Jeff questions.

 

“Ugh, fuck,” Kent murmurs.  “You’re right.  You’re fucking right, I just—”

 

“Didn’t want to have to confront their reactions?” Jeff finishes for him.

 

Kent nods.  “Yeah.  But we—well, we gotta at least try to make sure this doesn’t mess with their concentration too much.”

 

“From what I know about the young/new guys, I don’t think it will be a problem, but it’s better to be safe than sorry,” Jeff says.

 

“Listen, it is going to be a problem.  This is going to affect every part of our game plan,” Kent rebuts.  “The Falconers are going to be touchy, ready to jump one of our guys at first borderline play.  They’re going to take that sort of thing as a slight against Jack, Tater or Snowy—”

 

“Snowy?”

 

“Sorry, Karlsson,” Kent says.  “Tater and the team calls him Snowy.”

 

“Ah.”

 

“But yeah, anything questionable against those guys will trigger a response, so we have to make sure our guys are playing a clean game,” Kent finishes.

 

Jeff inhales and exhales slowly.  “We can try, but I doubt it’ll be a completely clean game,” Jeff says.  “Not with Volkov on the ice.”

 

“So then we just have to be attentive.  Make sure we intervene before he can do anything too stupid,” Kent says, rubbing at his eyes.  He really wishes Jack and Co. hadn’t done this right before the game against them, because it’s creating all kinds of headaches for him.  But then again, they’re probably dealing with all kinds of worse shit right now, so he needs to just deal with it.  “Look, it’ll be tense, but if you and I are on top of things the whole way, we should be able to keep things from exploding.”

 

“Okay, I’ll be right there with you buddy,” Jeff replies, nudging Kent’s shoulder gently.

 

“Thanks Jeff, I know I can always count on you,” Kent says, the corners of his mouth turning up into a slight grin.

 

“So—takeout and a movie?” Jeff asks.

 

“Jeff, it’s still morning,” Kent responds, stifling a giggle.

 

“And your point?”

 

“Alright fine, I’m in,” Kent says.

 

“Sweet!” Jeff exclaims happily.  “This will help you take your mind off things for a while, I promise.”

 

“It will as long as you don’t pick a shitty movie like you normally do,” Kent quips.

 

“Fuck off,” Jeff says, shoving Kent gently as they both laugh.  And for a moment, Kent does forget that tomorrow is going to be hell.

* * *

Kent talked to everyone in the locker room before the game, once he was sure everyone has arrived and was getting dressed.  It was awkward, and Kent sensed the unease coming from most of the guys (and the nearly red-faced rage coming from Volkov), but it’s something he had to say.  He told them to be careful, to play their game but at the same time not be reckless or stupid.

 

“They’ll already be fired up, so don’t do anything to fan the flames,” Kent said.

 

And after one period of play, that’s what they managed to do.  The Falconers played hard and with a lot of emotion, but they played fundamentally-sound, calm hockey, and they kept pace going into first intermission, the game tied at one apiece.

 

Shortly after puck drop to start the second period, it starts to unravel.  Kent loses track of Volkov on the ice, and he doesn’t notice when he gets reckless and out of control.  Kent doesn’t see what starts it (though later he finds it out it’s because Volkov almost slammed into Snowy), isn’t even aware something is wrong until the shouting starts.

 

Kent grimaces when he hears the sharp, barking tones floating over the ice to his ears.  He’s on the other side of the rink, but his line of sight is mostly clear when he turns around.  It’s fucking Volkov, up in Tater’s face and screaming at him in (probably) Russian.  Whatever it is Tater had just done, he had pushed Volkov to the verge of flying off the handle.

 

Kent grits his teeth and exhales.  He cannot let this turn into a fight.  Demographics be damned, the headline **_“ACES CENTER PUNCHES FIRST OPENLY BISEXUAL PLAYER”_** is not going to be good publicity for the team.  And he’s going to get yelled at by management for not stopping him and Volkov will be torn apart which, as much as he wants to happen, will end up reflecting on him, since he’s the captain.  He has no choice but to break this up, so he reluctantly begins to skate over.

 

As he’s skating, he happens to catch a glimpse of a replay on the video board reflecting onto the glass surrounding the ice.  It’s hard to make out exactly what happened, but it looks as if Tater checked Volkov.  Roughly.  Legally, but very roughly.  Volkov may not like it, but he has no right to be as pissed off as he is.

 

Kent doesn’t know Volkov is saying—when Volkov starts screaming like this, he never does, because he doesn’t speak a lick of Russian.  He takes his cues from the other players on the ice—from Tater and from the other Falconers players.

 

The Falconers players are watching warily, occasionally glancing back and forth between each other as if having a silent conversation, trying to figure out what do.  Tater is staring forward, looking over the top of Volkov’s head, his jaw tight.

 

Kent feels like he’s going to puke once he puts the pieces together.  He doesn’t need to know the _words_ Volkov is saying to know _what_ he’s saying.  He should’ve expected that Volkov was going to have a hair-trigger, that he was going to explode eventually.  He can’t go five minutes without being a homophobic dick to him, why should things be any different with the newly out Falconers players?

 

Kent completes his approach, stopping a few feet in front of the two players.  His intent is to get Volkov to skate away.  He won’t deal with anything that he may have said (since he can’t confirm it anyway), he’s just going to tell him to calm down before he gets put in the penalty box—or worse, gets himself ejected.

 

At least, that’s what Kent intends to do until Volkov turns and spots him.  Kent raises an eyebrow and jerks his head back toward the bench.  Volkov scowls, but makes no move to skate away from Tater.  In fact, after a second, the corners of his mouth start to turn up and he swivels his head back to face Tater.

 

“Get off ice, _faggot_.  You not belong,” he says, enunciating clearly, his tone sharp, biting and enraged.

 

Volkov might be looking Tater in the eye as he says it, but Kent isn’t stupid, and he knows Volkov.  The way he maintained eye-contact with Kent as that stupid little half-smirk formed on his face was a clear enough message that Volkov intended that for him as much as it was for Tater.

 

Kent can and has put up with a lot of shit from Volkov throughout his time with the Aces.  He kept Volkov from getting into his head for nearly two years (even before the team found out he was gay).  And maybe any other day, he would brush it off and tell Volkov to get back on the bench.

 

But not today.  He’s still emotionally charged up from all the things that Jack, Tater, and Snowy coming out dredged up.  He told Jeff that he was okay when they talked about it yesterday, but he lied.  He’s far from okay.  He’s been burying and repressing all the resentment he’s been feeling over management locking him in the closet and forcing him to play some part for the cameras, and he’s been swallowing back the bile that rises in his throat every time Volkov verbally bashes him.  He’s been pushing all of that away, pretending like it’s not threatening to suck all the life and happiness out of him, but he can’t pretend anymore.

 

Kent looks at Tater as all this rushes through his head.  Tater looks to be a fraction of a second away from decking Volkov, and Kent is fucking outraged.  After Jeff, Tater is the best friend Kent has (and he probably would be his #1 best friend if Kent got to see him every day like Jeff), and he knows that he’s a smart, kind man who’s never said a bad word about anyone in his life.  And even though Tater looks like he’s about to lose it and give Volkov the thrashing he deserves, Kent knows he won’t.  Tater isn’t violent or aggressive outside the confines of the game of hockey.

 

But Tater deserves to stand up for himself—hell, Kent deserves to stand up for himself too.  So what if Volkov is his teammate?  Tater is unquestionably more important to him than Volkov.  Kent loves Tater (though to what extent, he hasn’t figure out yet), and he’s nothing if fiercely loyal to the people he loves.  He once got into a fight with a kid twice his size and four years older than him because the guy thought it was funny to pick on his sister.  Kent owes this to Tater, and more importantly, he owes it to himself.

 

Kent is already in hot water with management, has been for a long time.  He doesn’t know what will happen if he stands up to Volkov, but he doesn’t have much of anything that he cares about losing if the reaction from management is bad.  So Kent puts his hand on Volkov’s shoulder, and he immediately turns to face Kent.

 

“Go fuck yourself.  We’re not going anywhere,” Kent hisses through gritted teeth as he winds up and takes his swing at Volkov.  Out of the corner of his eye, Kent sees Tater reach out to restrain him, but he’s too late to stop Kent’s first punch from hitting its mark.  Kent catches Volkov squarely on the nose, and he’s coiling up to strike again when Tater grabs his arms and tries to drag him away.

 

“Let—me— _go_ ,” Kent grunts, struggling against Tater’s grip because God, that felt so fucking good.  It was incredible to release his rage on Volkov, to put the weight of his anger at every snide comment, every disapproving look, and every slur Volkov has ever thrown at him behind his fist and swing as hard as he can.

 

Tater wraps an arm around Kent’s waist to gain more leverage to hold him back with.  “He not worth it,” Tater murmurs in his ear.  But Kent doesn’t quit fighting against his grip because he has a lot more he wants to do and stay to Volkov.  Now that the top has been blown off the fury that’s been building inside him for almost two years, it won’t stop venting, won’t stop making him see red, and he needs to release it, if only Tater would let him!

 

“He’s a fucking homophobic prick and I’m not letting him get away with it anymore!” Kent screams while Volkov stares at him wide-eyed, blood dripping down his face.  He’s clearly still reeling from Kent’s surprising hit.

 

“Kent, you make point,” Tater says into Kent’s ear quietly enough that only he can hear it as Jeff and Swoops start to skate over and help.

 

“Just let me hit him one more time!” Kent implores.

 

“He destroy you if you try and fight,” Tater says softly as he lets go of Kent’s arm and waves off Kent’s teammates, while still managing to keep Kent securely hugged into his body with his other arm.

 

“I—DON’T—CARE!” Kent shouts, continuing to struggle even as he feels his energy start to wane.

 

“Do for me please,” Tater murmurs, his voice quiet and filled with concern.  “I’m not want to see get hurt.”

 

That’s all Kent needs to hear for his rage to rush out of him like air out of a balloon, and he stops struggling, relaxing back into Tater’s body without thinking.  “Fine, I’ll do it for you,” Kent says with a sigh.  “But I still think he deserves more than just a bloody nose,” he adds, twisting his head around so he can look at Tater.

 

Tater releases him and waits for Kent to turn around before he bends down and whispers into his ear, “Not worry, we get few good checks.  We take care of.”

 

Kent nods curtly and adjusts his jersey, which had gotten bunched up and twisted around while he was struggling against Tater’s arms.  “Good.”

 

Kent turns and skates back to his bench (but not before flipping off Volkov, after which three Aces and four Falconers quickly move to restrain him), and the second he opens the gate and walks into the bench area, John in screaming in his face.

 

“What the fuck was that Parson?!” he screams, shoving Kent back forcefully.  “Why the hell would you punch your own teammate?!”

 

“Volkov is a fucking asshole and frankly, he got off easy,” Kent says, defending his actions as he takes off his helmet and tosses it in the direction of his place on the bench.  It lands on the floor with a loud clatter.

 

“Not fucking this again!” John groans and rolls his eyes.

 

“Yes, fucking this again!” Kent fires back.

 

“How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t give a fuck what he says!” John yells, using every bit of his 6’5” frame to tower over Kent, but Kent isn’t intimidated.  “He’s an unreplaceable and we need him to win games!”

 

Kent snorts.  “No, _I’m_ unreplaceable.  If you can’t adjust your game plan to win without a guy like Volkov, then I would think that says that you’re just a shitty coach,” he remarks coolly, taking a little too much pleasure in watching John’s face redden and the veins in his neck bulge out.

 

“How dare you?” John growls lowly.  “After everything I’ve done for you as a player—”

 

“After everything _you’ve_ done?” Kent replies incredulously.  “You had nothing to do with it.  I’ve worked my ass off for my entire life to be the player I am today, and you think you just get to take credit for it because I won you a few Cups.  Well fuck you John.  Fuck you, and Volkov, and everyone else in this fucking shitty organization that prioritizes winning fucking hockey games over basic human decency.  You know what?  I’m done.  I’m fucking done.  I don’t have to put with this shit any longer.”

 

Kent turns to walk down the tunnel, but John grabs the collar of his pads and yanks him back.  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”

 

Kent whirls around and returns the shove John gave him earlier with as much force as he can manage.  “Get you’re fucking hands off me,” Kent spits out.

 

“Then tell me just what it is you think you’re doing!” John demands.

 

“I’m not sharing the ice with Volkov,” Kent snarls.  “I refuse to be on the ice with him, I refuse to sit on the same bench as him, and I refuse to play under a coach like you.  I refuse to play another game for this organization unless you’re fired and Volkov is traded.”

 

John lets him go and fucking cackles in his face.  “You’re fucking delusional Kent,” he says.  “I don’t care how big of a star you think you are, Nick isn’t going to bend to your will.”

 

“Fine, that’s his choice,” Kent replies flippantly.  “And if it is, then the next time you’ll see me I’ll either be sitting behind that glass, or I’ll be sitting on the other bench.  Good luck explaining how you forced your team’s best player to quit.”

 

“You have _completely_ lost your fucking mind!”

 

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong,” Kent corrects.  “I haven’t lost my mind, I’m just doing something I should’ve done years ago.”

 

“You mean throwing away your career?”

 

“Listen John, I don’t give a single flying fuck about my hockey career,” Kent retorts.  “My career isn’t worth anything to me if it’s going to go on like this.  I’d rather be retired than stick around and endure this kind of disrespect.”

 

Kent turns around and slowly shuffles down the tunnel to the Aces locker room, ignoring John’s shouts behind him.  He’s going to shower, change, and then jet.  There are plenty of people who would rather he deal immediately with the giant mess he’s created, but he’s still too hot, there’s still too much anger boiling under the surface of his skin right now.  Maybe he doesn’t want to knock someone’s face in anymore, but the words at the tip of his tongue still feel sharp and white-hot, and all he’ll do is burn more bridges, rather than fix them.

 

Though part of him isn’t sure he even wants to spend the effort to fix those bridges already burned, because he’s not sure it will get him anywhere.  He may have let those bridges burn so hot that they’re no more than ash, disintegrating into the river beneath.

 

Kent sighs and scrubs a hand over his face.  He needs to go home and squeeze Kit tightly, to run his fingers through her fur as he watches TV and drinks one (or three) glasses of wine.  Maybe if he ends up super hungover tomorrow, they’ll go easy on him.  While he’s mulling this over, his phone beeps in his bag and he pulls it out, glancing quickly at the message.

 

**Messages with Nick (GM)**

**_Nick (GM):_ ** _I’m not happy with what just happened, Kent.  What you did was irresponsible and the repercussions are very likely going to be damaging to the organizations.  Understand that there are going to be severe consequences for this.  We’ll talk about them tomorrow morning in my office at 8:00 AM._

 

Kent squeezes his phone in his fist.  Fuck the Aces.  It’s not going to be enough to get John fired and Volkov traded, because the rot goes all the way to the top.  Unless he gets free from this organization, it will always be the same story, no matter the coach and no matter the players.

 

Kent chucks his phone at the wall in a fit of rage.  This isn’t fair.  He devoted the best years of his life to this team, and all they did was fuck him up and screw him over.  He deserves better than this.  He _demands_ better than this.

 

And so Kent makes up his mind.  He’s going to march into Nick’s office tomorrow morning, and he’s not going to listen to a lecture about the consequences of his actions, he’s not going to grovel for forgiveness.  He’s going to go in there and demand he be traded or released, because he’d rather die than play another game for the Aces (okay, maybe that’s a little extreme, but it would take a lot for him to consider it).

* * *

Kent is lying down on the couch in his living room, Kit purring happily on his chest.  He’s gently petting her as he watches _Friends_ and sips on his glass of wine.  He breathes slowly and deeply, trying to let the tension in his chest unfurl.

 

He’s not sure how long he’s been lying there (and doesn’t really care) when there’s a knock on the door to his apartment.

 

“Go away!” Kent groans, lolling his head to the side to glance over at the door.  If it’s Jeff, he has a key and can come in anyway.  If it’s not, then Kent doesn’t care to talk to them (he’s not sure that he would want to talk to Jeff either).  He’s not really in the mood to explain himself to them.

 

“Kent, please open.  I’m worry,” they reply.

 

Oh.  It’s Tater.  He wasn’t expecting him to be dropping by and—well, despite his mood, Kent could be convinced to talk to him for a minute or two.  He’s talked to Tater when he was angry or upset before and it seemed to make him feel better then.  Kent slowly pushes Kit off his body.  She meows in protest, but leaps off his chest onto the floor anyway.  Kent stands up and pats her head as he walks to the door.

 

“Hey Tater,” he says as he opens the door, running a hand through his hair while leaning up against the inside of the doorframe.  “What are you doing here?”

 

“You punch player, then I’m see you yell and shove coach,” Tater explains.  “Then you leave game and I’m not see you after like normal, and you not answer texts.  I’m think you are upset so I’m want to check on.”

 

“You didn’t have to do that,” Kent murmurs, looking down and his and Tater’s feet.

 

“I’m not have to do, but I’m want to do,” Tater replies.

 

“Well thanks, but I’m uh—I’m fine,” Kent says and it’s not totally truthful, but it’s not a complete lie; he’s at least fine compared to earlier.

 

“Then why you leave game?  You were not ejected.  And why you not answer texts?” Tater asks.

 

Kent sighs and scrubs at his eyes.  “It’s—I broke my phone.  Because I chucked it at a wall.  And the reason I left the game is—well, it’s a really long story.”

 

“Tell me all about what is happen,” Tater says, grabbing Kent’s hand and pulling him toward the couch.

 

“Tater, wait,” Kent says, pulling Tater’s hand back gently.  Tater stops and turns expectantly toward Kent.  “Look, you’ve only got so much time before curfew and I’m sure you don’t want to spend that time listening to me rant.  Besides, I probably shouldn’t tell you anyway.”

 

“No.  I’m not want to do something else,” Tater says, softly tugging Kent back.  “I’m always want to listen to Kent.”

 

Kent frowns.  “No, I really shouldn’t tell you anything.”

 

“I’m think is something I’m should know,” Tater responds with a slight frown, pulling Kent down on the couch next to him.

 

“I—” Kent starts to protest before stopping.  Tater’s right of course.  Kent has no idea what his contract situation is like, or if he ever intends to sign somewhere other than the Falconers.  And while there’s no guarantee that the Aces would ever be interested in him, now that he’s out, he deserves to know in case the situation ever arises.

 

And he trusts Tater not to go blabbing to a bunch of people.  Maybe he’ll tell him to pass the information on to Jack and Snowy, but if Kent tells him not to say anything to anyone else, he can trust that he won’t.  Kent trusts Tater a lot—probably more than he trusts even Jeff.

 

“Okay fine, yeah, you should probably know but uh—it’s a lot, so just let me tell the whole thing before asking any questions or whatever,” Kent says.

 

“Okay,” Tater says, putting an arm around Kent’s shoulders.  Which—that’s new for them, and Kent wants to say something about it, but Tater looks like he’s earnestly waiting, so Kent launches into the story.

 

“Okay, so like, you remember Clint, right?  And how we broke up toward the beginning of last season?  And how like, I never really told you why?” Kent starts.  Tater nods in acknowledgement.  “Well what happened was that Clint was sorta getting unhappy about the two of us being a secret from everyone except like you and Jeff.  Or, at least I think he was unhappy, but I never outright asked him so I have no way of knowing for sure.  Anyway, so I was thinking that he wasn’t happy about our situation so I decided to go to the head of the Aces’ PR department and try to get like, started on the process of coming out.”

 

Tater cocks his head to the side thoughtfully, like he always does when he’s listening intently to something Kent is saying.  Meanwhile, his hand is rubbing up and down Kent’s arm.

 

Kent swallows.  “So like uh—that didn’t go well, okay?  I walked into her office and told her that I was gay and wanted to come out and her response was like this retching noise.  Or maybe it wasn’t retching, but whatever kind of noise it was, it made me want to punch her.  Then she said, ‘I don’t care what you do in the privacy of your own bedroom, but for Christ sake’s keep that to yourself.’  And like, I was really caught off-guard by that, but I tried to keep going with my whole spiel—I mean, I made notecards and everything.  I was going to power through it even though my hands were like shaking now.”

 

“So I continued on with my whole thing, like I was willing to give it some time and all that but she just put her hand up and muttered, ‘I do not need this today,’ and then said to me, ‘You’re not coming out ever.  You hear me, ever.  Not while you’re a member of this organization.’  And I was just—I was already nervous as shit and I had no idea what to say to that so I just was kinda like okay and left.”

 

At this, Tater grabs his hand and starts dragging his thumb back and forth across the back.  Kent has no idea what’s going on, but the more he tells Tater about his situation with the Aces, the more he gets too riled up to think about it or care.

 

“And I figured she was just like, surprised by my sudden announcement or something, you know?  I’ve read that people can react badly to someone coming out just because they’re shocked and like not prepared for it.  We were leaving for a roadie that day so I figured I’d come back to her office after and maybe then she’d be ready to actually discuss it.  Boy was I wrong though, because I got a call from Nick—our GM—later that afternoon, just before I got on the plane.”

 

“He told me Linda had talked to him and with something as ‘serious’ as this, he wanted to follow up with me.  And I was like okay, and tried to start talking about how maybe she was just taken aback and that with some time we could have a good discussion about it, but I didn’t get very far before Nick said that he wanted to reiterate her point about not coming out ever.”

 

Tater hums, frowning deeply as he takes his free hand from around Kent’s shoulders and brings it up, slowly massaging and petting the back of his head.  It’s actually very soothing, almost enough to pull Kent out of his ranting.  Almost.

 

“So like, now I’m super frustrated because when I walked into Linda’s office I had decided that this was something I was absolutely going to do, so I just said to Nick, ‘and what if I decide to come out anyway,’ and he laughed for a few seconds before getting dead serious.  And he said, “I can’t stop you, but I promise if you go against the wishes of the organization, you will regret it for the rest of your life.  I will make your life a living hell.’  And not content to just threaten me, he went on to describe all the ways he could basically ruin my life, and I didn’t want to come out that badly, so I was just like fine and dropped it.”

 

“Since I couldn’t come out like I wanted to, I made the decision to break up with Clint because I figured he deserved better than some coward that couldn’t stand up to his bosses and let himself get locked in the closet.”

 

“You were not coward.  You did what you thought was best thing at time,” Tater interjects.

 

Kent shakes his head.  “I don’t agree but whatever.  Anyway, so that’s why we broke up, and after that I chose not to even try to get back into the dating scene since all I’d do was drag some guy into the closet with me.  But like, I was lonely so I started going out with the guys a bunch.  Which no one in management cared about until a couple months later, when I colossally fucked up and just completely pissed them off.”

 

“Okay, so what happened was that I got a little too drunk, and it had been fucking months since I’d gotten any action.  So I kinda—well, it was a straight bar, so there weren’t guys to hit on or whatever, so I spent most of my time dancing and chilling with Swoops and Jeff—but I kinda started feeling it too much and I kissed Swoops.  And like, he was cool with it and all because he’s an awesome guy.  Actually, no one I was there with gave a fuck, but Mac is a little gossiping shit and he texted a couple of his buddies on the team that weren’t there what happened, and—well, word spread quickly and before you could blink, the entire team had heard what happened.”

 

“More about the guys’ reaction in a minute, but anyway.  Like, I don’t know, maybe management wouldn’t have gone completely bonkers if I hadn’t taken the opportunity to tell everyone on the team I was gay.  Cause like, some people will do weird shit when they get wasted without any kind of intent behind it.  But I was like fuck pretending that I did it just because I was drunk.  And they were furious that I didn’t do that, so I got called in and got some whole big thing about how ‘the more people that know, the more likely it is for it to get out to other people.’”

 

“And like, the entire team got threatened against saying a word, which pissed me off because who are they to put that on the other guys?  It’s one thing for them to tell me that, but it’s really not their responsibility.  But yeah, everyone on the whole team, myself included, was threatened with severe punishment if word ever got out, plus I got an extra warning against that sort of thing ever happening again.  And I was like what the fuck, now they were trying to control me beyond not letting me come out and plus you know what they said to the team.  But I couldn’t do a fucking thing because I they would’ve fucked me up if I did.”

 

Kent pauses for a second, and Tater takes the opportunity to pull Kent’s head down onto his shoulder.

 

“So now I’ve got just this _wonderful_ relationship with management and of course, it was just my luck that before I had any time to try and shore things up, I had to sit down with them and negotiate a contract extension.  Because going into the next season—this current season—I had one year left on my deal and like, my agent wasn’t willing to let me play on just that because ‘what if I got hurt’ and blah blah blah.”

 

“So we go in and sit down with Nick and the assistant GM and a couple of lawyers and they present their preliminary offer.  And like, I took one look at it and I swear my jaw hit the floor.”

 

“So they still give you good offer?” Tater asks.

 

Kent laughs for about thirty seconds before he can respond to Tater’s question.  “No, it wasn’t good at all!  I mean it was offensive.  I had been the highest paid player for the last three years in a row—$14.4 million a year—and the level I was playing at hadn’t changed, so it should’ve been at least that much.  But the extension on the table was for three years and nine million.  Only fucking _nine_.”

 

“I’m get paid more and I’m not as good as you,” Tater says incredulously.

 

“Guys on our third line get paid three million a year.  Not me,” Kent continues indignantly.  “And I was expecting maybe a low offer okay?  Because of how rough things had been, but I had not expected that.  And I hadn’t told my agent, Tracey, much because I figured it wouldn’t be bad.  But it was, and she just stared at the offer for a solid minute before slamming it down on the table and asking Nick, ‘are you fucking _kidding_ me?’”

 

“And his reply to her and me—well, I’m never gonna forget it, because it opened my eyes to how the Aces were seeing me.  He said that, because of my sexuality, I posed a risk to the profitability of the team and that risk was factored into the offer.  He said I posed a fucking risk!  Just because I’m gay!  God, he even went so far as to say my sexuality going public would be a ‘scandal.’  I couldn’t fucking believe it!  A fucking scandal!”

 

Tater sighs sadly and squeezes his hand.

 

“And like, in retrospect, I probably should’ve given my agent the heads up about everything because this had to have just blindsided her, but I was impressed by how well she handled it.  She took it all in stride and started going off on Nick about how the first out player would ‘draw all the gay fans’ to that player’s team and like—what she was saying was brilliant and convincing and I couldn’t believe she was coming up with it on the fly.  But I watched Nick the whole time she was talking and he was just completely unimpressed.  I could tell he wasn’t going to budge an inch.”

 

“So I had to cut her off.  I cut her off and looked him right in the eye and told him that I would tell literally the whole world about his discriminatory offer if he didn’t give me a fair one instead.  And he tried to give me the same bullshit he did at the beginning about how it was a fair offer but I just asked, ‘do you think the public is going to see it that way?’ and I swear he went white as a sheet.”

 

“I mean, that must have really gotten his attention, because he turned to the team lawyers and they handed him another offer to hand to Tracey.  Apparently they—without Nick knowing—had prepared another, better offer.  They must have expected me to pull some shit like I did.  Anyway, they gave me three years and $41 million.  Which was still a paycut, and Tracey wanted more years but I literally said fuck that.  I didn’t want to stick around for many years longer and I doubt the Aces wanted me to either.  I think they just wanted another run or two at the Cup out of me.  I mean, you’ve seen that I’ve been phased out of all the promotional shit they’ve got going.  So that offer couldn’t have been because they liked me or anything, they just wanted my skills as a player for a while longer.  So that’s the story with management.”

 

“And what about teammates?” Tater questions.

 

“Oh, right.  Okay, so back to the locker room.  So like I said, I refused to blame the kiss on alcohol, so I told everyone at practice the following day.  I told them it wasn’t some bullshit that happened because I was drunk, it happened because I was gay.  And I got immediate supportive responses from—well, from the guys that I was out with.  Jeff, Swoops, Mac and Felix.  They were the people I figured wouldn’t care.  And no one else said anything and no one else really reacted beyond showing a bit of discomfort.”

 

“Well, no one else, except for Volkov.  I heard him make a noise and mutter something under his breath and mutter something under his breath and like, I wasn’t sure what kind of reaction it was at first, but I figured out pretty quickly.  ‘Cause he started like, checking me harder in practice and scowling at me in the locker room.  And all of that was like unnerving, but it was whatever, I couldn’t prove that he was being homophobic.  But then he started throwing slurs at me and shit and I was like yeah, okay, time to do something about this.”

 

“So I went to John and told him what happened and he just shrugged.  He was like I agree with him, you are—I don’t want to repeat what he said, but anyway he was like, just deal with it.  I’m not going to do anything about it.  And I wasn’t happy at all because like, great, I have a giant homophobe as my coach, but I didn’t figure there was a lot I could do, so I just put up with it for a while.  But Volkov wouldn’t let up, in fact he almost seemed emboldened, so it started to get a little demoralizing.”

 

“So I went to Nick.  And like, I have no idea why I thought he’d be any help, but I went to him and explained the situation.  I asked him to punish Volkov, or at the very least ask him to stop, but Nick just shook his head and said ‘these are the consequences of being careless about trying to conceal your lifestyle, and you’re just going to have to live with them.’  Also he added that it was a contract year for Volkov and they needed him to be happy so he’d re-sign.”

 

“All of this happened about two weeks ago, and like I didn’t tell Jeff and Swoops and Mac and Felix about what was going on, but they heard Volkov and they offered to confront him for me, but I just shrugged them off.  He was my enemy, and this was my problem, not theirs.”

 

“I’ve just been like, not dealing with what’s been happening, but then you and Jack and Karlsson came out and it all got brought it all to the forefront and so—”

 

“Is why you punch Volkov and you fight with coach,” Tater finishes.

 

Kent stops and nods, breathing heavily.  He hadn’t realized how riled up he was getting, and now he’s exhausted.  “Well, I didn’t punch him just for me.  I did it for you too, because you didn’t deserve to be getting shit from Volkov too.”

 

“Was okay,” Tater replies.

 

Kent scoffs.  “No it wasn’t,” he says.  “None of that was okay, and neither is any of the bullshit I’ve gone through.  I’m done Tater, okay?  I can’t—I can’t play for this team anymore.”

 

“I’m sorry you must go through.  And I’m not blame you.  No one will blame,” Tater says, leaning over and pressing a soft kiss to Kent’s temple, and Kent flushes.  Everything that’s happened since Tater knocked on his door has been very out of the ordinary for them.  They don’t talk about feelings, they don’t cuddle like this, Tater doesn’t play with his hair or hold his hand, and they certainly don’t press kisses anywhere.  It’s so very different, and Kent doesn’t know what to make of it.

 

“Maybe no one will blame me,” Kent says after pausing to process what they’re doing, “but that won’t stop me from blaming myself.  I’m an idiot for thinking that I should’ve tried to come out while I was still playing.”

 

“Was not bad idea, you need not blame self,” Tater sighs.  “I’m do same thing and it go well.  I’m just think you not have right people in front office.”

 

Kent snorts, chuckling softly.  “You can say that again.”

 

“So if you not play for Aces, what you do now?” Tater asks.

 

Kent exhales slowly through his nose and looks down at where Tater is still holding his hand.  “I’m not really sure,” he answers softly after a minute.  “I think my only choices are to force a trade or—well, retire.  And out of those options, I think retiring is the one most likely to happen, because I doubt there’s a team that will have any interest in me after today’s shitshow.”

 

“I’m think at least one team will want,” Tater replies quickly, his face lighting up with a pleased expression.

 

Kent knows what he’s implying, and of course he loves the idea of playing for the Falconers, but he can’t imagine how it could work out.  “Listen Tater, I know what you’re thinking,” he says, “and I would fucking love to play on the Falconers with you and Jack and all the other guys.  But there’s no way that your GM will go through with it.  Nick hates me, and one conversation with him will dissuade your GM from pursuing me.”

 

“George say we need good veteran for fourth line, she just look for right guy, and I’m think you be right guy,” Tater explains.  “And once I’m tell George what happen, what he say not matter to her.”

 

“Okay, so for the sake of argument, let’s say that she doesn’t listen to him,” Kent muses.  “What makes you think Nick will want to trade me, his best player, anyway?”

 

“She will make offer impossible to turn down,” Tater answers.

 

Kent is baffled and mystified by Tater’s complete, unequivocal confidence in his GM.  Maybe it’s just because Nick is the only GM Kent has ever had, but Kent wouldn’t trust any GM as much as Tater seems to trust his.  There would be so much at stake if the Falconers did try and trade for him, and that fact that Tater thinks that there would be no hesitation from his GM is—puzzling.

 

“Tater, what even makes you think that uh—George would consider this if you brought it up to her?” Kent questions.  “I mean, wouldn’t you have to have a pretty close relationship with your GM for that to happen?” he adds, very curious about his response, because Kent’s never heard of player being close to their GM.

 

“George be assistant GM before she get promoted and work close with players,” Tater replies, as he’s nodding.  “She responsible for get me and Jack to Falconers.  I’m talk to her much while I’m with team, and I’m have dinner with her and her wife many times.  I’m can talk to her and she listen.”

 

“Her—her wife?  That—that—okay, that makes a lot of sense,” Kent stutters, more than little surprised by the sudden news that the NHL has queer GM.  But that certainly explains why Tater, Jack and Snowy were all able to come out with what seems to have been relative ease.  When the person at the head of the organization is queer, there was no way the same hostility toward gay players in the Aces organization could exist.

 

“Yes, so when I’m tell her what Aces do, she will want to help,” Tater says, his hand releasing Kent’s as Tater reaches for the pocket of his jeans, presumably to pull out his phone.

 

“Tater wait,” Kent says, grabbing Tater’s wrist gently to stop him.  “Even if she can disregard what happened tonight, I’m not the most cooperative player anyway.  I have plenty of other character issues and the last thing I want you to do is to stake your own reputation to my fate.  I don’t want you to.  I mean, sure, early retirement is going to suck ass, but I’ll—I’ll survive, okay?”

 

“I’m risk much, but I’m not afraid to risk much for people who mean much to me,” Tater says softly, grabbing Kent’s other hand.  “You still want to play, and I’m know you cannot play for Aces.  I’m want to give you chance to play somewhere else.”

 

“You don’t have—”

 

“What you do for me on ice with Volkov—you defend.  This is least I’m can do to repay.”

 

“Tater, you don’t have to repay me for anything,” Kent says, shaking his head.  “If anything, I’m the one that needs to repay you.  If you hadn’t been so brave to come out first, then none of this would’ve happened.  I would’ve never stood up for myself if it wasn’t for you; you uh—well sometimes you um—you make me feel like I’m someone worth standing up for.”

 

Kent hangs his head and groans softly.  That was—a more revealing thing than he meant to say.

 

“Is true,” Tater says, putting a hand under his chin and lifting his head up, smiling at him almost tenderly, and Kent feels like he’s gotten punched in the gut with some feeling too intense for him to identify.  “Is why I’m want to do this.  I’m want you to be with organization that respect you.  I’m want you to still play hockey and be happy doing.  You can trust.  I’m make happen, okay?”

 

Kent wholeheartedly trusts Tater, but there are so many variables involved.  Maybe Tater will be able to make the trade happen, maybe he won’t.  Kent can’t know, because it isn’t just dependent on Tater.  He’s convinced that Tater will be able to make George come around on the idea of trading for him, but Nick—it’s entirely possible Nick will turn down any offer, just to spite Kent.

 

Despite the uncertainty, Kent looks into Tater’s eyes and finds himself believing that he’ll make it happen.  He might end up extremely disappointed, but Kent decides that he’s willing to take that chance.  “Okay,” Kent answers quietly.  “You can uh—go ahead and talk to her.  But if it doesn’t work out just—don’t worry about me, okay?  I promise I’m going to be fine.”

 

“I’m sure it will work, but okay.  I’m can’t promise I’m not worry, but I’m try,” Tater says.

 

After a long second, Kent finally tears his eyes away Tater to glance across the room.  He checks the clock (the one that’s only in here because the interior designer insisted that it completed the “aesthetic” of the room), and sees that Tater has been at his apartment for almost an hour—he thinks.  Which means it’s probably close to curfew for Tater.

 

“Uh, shouldn’t you be getting back to your hotel?  You know, curfew and all that?” Kent asks, flushing as it occurs to him that they spent the whole time Tater was here cuddling on his couch.

 

“Yes, I’m must leave,” Tater sighs, rolling his head to loosen up his neck (or least, that’s what Tater told him when he asked why he does it).

 

Tater seems to be reluctant to release Kent’s hand, and it takes almost a full minute before he does and stands up to leave.  Once he does, Kent also stands up and trails a step behind him.  Tater opens the door, but then stops and turns around in the doorway.  “I’m text when I’m hear from George,” Tater declares, and Kent giggles.

 

“Uh, I broke my phone, remember?  That’s why you’re here?” he says.

 

Tater grins.  “You are right,” he replies.  “Well, I’m find way to let you know what she say.  Maybe I’m hire someone to write in sky,” he adds jokingly.

 

“Nah, don’t do that, that’s too romantic,” Kent says, trying to ignore the weird thing his stomach is doing as he says it.  “Why not just use a dove?  Or better yet, why don’t you email me.  I still have a functioning laptop.”

 

Kent thinks there’s a hint of a blush on Tater’s cheeks as he answers, “Okay, I’m do that.”

 

“Now get outta here, we wouldn’t want you to miss a game because you were out late fraternizing with the enemy,” Kent says, smacking Tater on the arm.

 

Tater reaches out and pulls him into a hug.  “Hope not enemy for long,” he murmurs into the top of Kent’s head.

 

“Me too,” Kent whispers back.  “And um.  Thanks for.  You know.  Listening to me rant.  It means a—well, I was really glad to get it off my chest.  To someone I could—well, trust,” he adds when Tater steps back.

 

Tater smiles.  “I’m happy to do,” he says before leaning over and kissing Kent on the cheek.  “I’m need to leave.  But I’m hope that I’m see you soon.”

 

“Y-yeah, me t-too,” Kent stammers as Tater briefly hugs him again.  Tater then turns and starts to walk down the hall.

 

Kent—well, if Tater is successful and he ends up on the Falconers, he might just be screwed.  Before tonight, he was already sure he was in love with Tater in some way but—he’s starting to think that it isn’t just the friendship kind, given the way that the skin on his cheek is still tingling where Tater kissed him, long after Tater has disappeared from sight.

 

Of course, that assumes that over the next day (or couple of days), everything works out just right—which Kent is sure his hopes are already too high that it will.  But hope is the best thing he’s got in this shitty situation, so he’s going to cling to it and hope that, for once, things will turn out in his favor.

* * *

Kent’s walk into Nick’s office the next morning is confident, if still a bit cautious.  Tater had emailed him that morning to say that George had already called Nick at like, 1 AM, something Kent is still trying to wrap his head around.  He can’t believe that George was so on board with the idea that she called his GM in the middle of the night.  Tater says that George thought that the response from Nick was fairly positive, so Kent has reason to be somewhat confident.

 

(Not to say that this meeting will be fun, per se, because Nick is frowning deeply when Kent walks in.)

 

“Kent, please take a seat,” Nick says, flat and emotionless.  Kent does, and Nick shuffles around a few of the papers on his desk before looking up at him.  “Alright Kent, I’m not going sugar-coat or beat around the bush.  Starting from the moment you came out to us, you’ve been a nightmare for this organization.”

 

Kent snorts.  “Well that’s a relief,” he replies sarcastically.  “And I was thinking we were going to end up in that awkward situation where you guys liked having me around while I hated all your fucking guts.”

 

Nicks sighs exasperatedly and pinches the bridge of his nose.  “I’ve been questioning myself a lot lately.  I thought that we, as an organization, could put up with this for a couple more years because there was no reason to think we would stop winning,” he says.  “That’s why I didn’t protest when my lawyers handed me the offer with more money.”

 

“Well that, and the fact that I was going to go public if you didn’t,” Kent says, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

 

“Yes, that was part of the decision as well,” Nick says with a grimace.  “Since then, you have offered us zero cooperation, and last night, you finally went too far.  You crossed the line and proved that the wins you provide are no longer worth the trouble you cause.”

 

“Me?” Kent gasps, clutching his chest.  “Uncooperative and causing trouble?  How dare you imply—”

 

“Oh, would you fucking shove it Kent,” Nick says, glaring harshly at him.

 

“Maybe,” Kent replies with a smirk.

 

“I am not going to miss this,” Nick mutters under his breath.

 

“So you’re getting rid of me?” Kent questions.

 

“That is exactly what we’re doing,” Nick answers, ruffling some of the papers on his desk.  “I got a call from Georgia Martin at 1 AM this morning, and though I highly suspect you were behind it, which you’re technically not allowed to do, I’m not going to file any complaints with the league.”

 

“For the record, I was not the one who said anything, it was Ma—”

 

“I don’t care,” Nick interrupts.  “She made me an offer I couldn’t refuse, and I’m going to take the deal.”

 

“You mean you made me traipse in here at fucking eight o’clock in the morning just to tell me I’ve been traded?” Kent asks, pursing his lips.  “Couldn’t you have just called?”

 

“No,” Nick says, picking up the top piece of paper from the stack on his desk and handing it to Kent.  “Since your agent insisted on putting a no-trade clause in your last contract, I can’t complete the deal until you sign this and waive the clause.”

 

“Did you really have to do all the blah blah blah before you asked me to sign this?  Why not just hand it to me when I walked in?” Kent says, rolling his eyes as he snatches the paper from Nick’s hand.  “You already know I wanted out.  You could’ve spared me the lecture.”

 

“Listen, I’m doing this because I want you to understand that the Falconers are going to be the only team you’ll get to play with for the rest of your career,” Nick says, placing a pen in Kent’s open, waiting hand.  “Once this trade is completed, I’m going have your name blacklisted with the other thirty-two teams.  If you go to the Falconers, there is not turning back.  There won’t be a ‘play there for a year or two and choose where you want to go.’  If you sign this, the Falconers are it for you.”

 

Kent hands back the signed paper as Nick finishes his speech.  “Any team that you have the power to convince I’m not worth signing because of whatever ‘character issues’ bullshit you make up—well, that isn’t a team I want to play for.  So if the Falconers are the only team that can see through your lies, then they’re the only team I want to play for.”

 

Nick scowls as he silently grabs the signed paper from Kent’s hand and picks up the receiver of his desk phone.  He stabs at one of the buttons.  “Yeah, he signed it.  Have fun with your new problem child,” Nick says flippantly before hanging up.  “She expects you in Providence some time tomorrow.”

 

Kent almost whoops audibly at this, but he stops himself and settles for a small, barely perceptible fist pump (though why he tempered his excitement for Nick, he not sure).  “Well Nick, I would say it’s been a pleasure, but it hasn’t—”

 

“Just shut up,” Nick says, plopping down in his desk chair heavily.  “Just go get your gear from your locker and get the hell out of my building.  The sooner you’re out of my hair, running this team can stop feeling like a chore.”

 

“Well, the chore isn’t done yet,” Kent says, flashing Nick a shit-eating grin.  “You’ve still gotta tell the fans about this, and I’m sure they’re not going to be happy to lose one of their favorite players.  But hey, I’m not an Ace anymore, so that’s not my problem.”

 

“Oh my God, just fuck off and get out of here already.”

 

“Gladly,” Kent replies with a facetious bow before turning and walking out of Nick’s office.  He doesn’t spare a look back over his shoulder.

* * *

The next twenty-four hours are a bit of a whirlwind for Kent.  Between packing, saying goodbye to his friends, and avoiding the media, by the time he drops his body into his plane seat, he’s exhausted.  He’s not sure what’s in store for him when he reaches Providence, but words can’t describe how relieved he feels, despite the unknown he’s facing.

 

Kent sleeps most of the flight, only waking when the flight attended jerks him awake and tells him he needs to fasten his seatbelt.  He walks off the plane and to the passenger terminal, expecting to see some random Falconers employee standing there, holding a sign with his name, waiting to pick him up and take him to the hotel he’s going to be staying at—probably for the rest of the season, since he won’t have time to hunt for apartments.  He’ll drop off his bags, and then they’ll head over to the arena where he’ll have introductions and interviews (and most likely practice).  It’s—well, he’s happy to be here, but the next couple days are going to be a _lot_ and he’s already drained.

 

“Tater?” Kent utters questioningly when he walks into the passenger terminal and spots his familiar face (that’s currently adorably frowning down at his phone).

 

Tater’s head perks up and he grins as he spies Kent.  “Kent!” he says happily, starting to walk over to him.  “You make it here!”

 

“I—yeah, I made it,” Kent says, his voice muffled by Tater’s shoulder when he pulls him into a tight hug.  Kent hugs back hesitantly, feeling a bit unsure after their interaction in his apartment two days ago.  But hugging Tater feels good, feels safe—or maybe that’s just because he’s not under the Aces’ thumb anymore.  But either way, he holds onto Tater for what feels like hours, until the other man releases him.

 

“How are you?” Tater asks, pulling Kent’s carry-on bag off his shoulder before Kent can get a word of protest in.  Kent pouts for a second, but Tater just puts an arm around his shoulders and starts guiding him out to the parking lot.

 

“I’m uh—really tired I guess,” Kent finally answers, shrugging as best he can when he’s under Tater’s arm.

 

Tater laughs.  “I’m understand,” he replies.  “When Schooners trade me here, I’m not get back to normal for months.”

 

“Oh yeah, I forgot you started out in Shithole—I mean Seattle, with that shitty team,” Kent says, chuckling as he smirks up at Tater.

 

“I’m tell you many times, I’m know you remember,” Tater says, rolling his eyes.  “And Seattle is not shithole.  Is beautiful city.”

 

“Yeah, all that rain is just a fucking joy,” Kent scoffs.  “I just _love_ walking around with soaked shoes all the time.”

 

“You need better shoes, is all,” Tater counters.

 

“And?” Kent asks when Tater doesn’t say anything more.

 

“And what?”

 

“And—well, normally when I bash the Schooners as a hockey team, you say something defending them,” Kent says with a frown.  “But you’re not saying anything.”

 

Tater exhales softly.  “Many ‘teammates’ say bad things after I’m come out, so I’m not—” he says, gesturing vaguely at the end of the sentence like he normally does when he’s searching for a particular word.

 

“I’m sorry,” Kent says, nudging Tater’s shoulder sympathetically with his head.

 

Tater shakes his head.  “Not need to be sorry,” he responds.  “I’m on good team with kind teammates.  Good team that get better, now that you here.”

 

“Damn right,” Kent replies.  “Speaking of the team, you’re here to pick me up, right?  So—”

 

“No.  I’m come to say hi and then I’m leave here,” Tater interrupts sarcastically.

 

Kent rolls his eyes.  “Har, har.  Why did I encourage you to start using sarcasm again?” he asks, even as he stifles a grin.

 

“Because you say you like sarcastic people,” Tater shrugs.

 

“Alright, fine, I do,” Kent concedes.  “But anyway, since you’re here to pick me up, do you know what the play for me today is?  I mean, I’m assuming they at least told you what I’m doing next.”

 

“George say you get day off,” Tater answers.  “You rest today, meet team and media tomorrow.”

 

“Alright, cool cool,” Kent says.  “So uh, what hotel do they have me at?  The Marriott?  Residence Inn?  Or heaven forbid they put me in a Holiday Inn?  I mean, trust me, that place is not good for long-term stays, I mean sometimes there’s not even a microwave—”

 

“I’m think you stay with me.  Unless you want to stay in hotel.  Is fine, but I’m just think since I’m have space and I’m—” Tater hesitates for a second.  “I’m think you be more comfortable at my place.  And you can bring Kit if you stay with me.  Hotel will not allow.”

 

An unusual feeling settles in Kent’s stomach.  He hadn’t considered staying with Tater and—well, it seems obvious that he should, but it feels like there’s something emotionally—well,  _heavy_ implicit in Tater’s offer, a slight hesitation to his words, and Kent can’t tell whether that feeling and that hesitation is imagined or real.

 

Kent clears his throat and looks down at his shoes as he replies.  “Uh that’s—um, well that’s very thoughtful of you.  But I don’t want to be any trouble.  Are you s—”

 

“I’m very much sure,” Tater says.  “You best friend and I’m not want you to stay in shitty hotel.”

 

“Oh.  Well I really app—” Kent starts to say, but Tater continues.

 

“And I’m uh—” he says, his cheeks reddening.  “Maybe I’m already tell George you stay with me?”

 

Kent raises an eyebrow.

 

“But I’m can tell her you change mind!” Tater adds quickly.

 

“No.  No you—you don’t have to do that,” Kent replies slowly, the gears in his head starting to grind haltingly.  There’s a long lull in the conversation before Kent says something again.  By this point, they’re at Tater’s SUV.  Tater tosses his bag into the back as he climbs into the passenger seat.  Tater smiles as he gets into the vehicle.  Neither of them say much on the way to Tater’s apartment.  Kent isn’t sure he could say much other than “look out!” anyway, because Tater is a terrible driver.

 

Tater leads him up to his apartment and shows him the guest room.  Kent drops his bag on the bed before heading back out to the kitchen, where Tater is busy pulling things out of the refrigerator, cabinets, and drawers, and setting them out on the counter.

 

“You want drink?” Tater asks, but Kent waves him off.

 

“Hey, uh—if you don’t mind, I was just wondering if maybe you would—well, if you could tell me how you got George to move so fast on the trade?” Kent probes, trying to gather more information to piece this—Tater coming out, the night in Kent’s apartment after the game, the trade, Tater offering to let him stay at his place—together.

 

“Was not hard,” Tater says nonchalantly, and his back is to Kent, though Kent has a feeling there’s a blush gathering on his cheeks.  At the very least, there’s a strained tone to his voice that betrays something he’s not saying.

 

“Not hard?” Kent prods.  “You mean, you convinced George to taking on a player with a double-digit-millions a year contract with a new-found reputation for causing trouble in the locker room—” he pauses to snap his fingers, “—just like that?”

 

Tater stops what he’s doing for a moment. “She—when I’m explain situation, she become very interested,” Tater mumbles, and then goes back to whatever he’s working on.  “But maybe—maybe I’m oversell situation just a bit.”

 

The banging of pots and pans and silverware nearly drowns out his words, but Kent hears them and a frown settles on his lips.  “Oversell?  Oh my god Tater, what did you say?” he groans, because if he’s understanding this right, then Tater must have—  “You didn’t try to pull some kind of thing where you said we were dating, did you?!”

 

“No, is not what I’m do!” Tater almost shouts as he drops the bowl in his hands and shakes his head rapidly.  “I’m just—maybe I’m say more teammates be more vocal about you.  Maybe I’m lie and tell her that coach and management say many slurs to you.  I’m not say we date.”

 

“Oh,” Kent responds and—he thinks that there might have been a hint of disappointment in Tater’s voice at the end of that statement, which is—interesting.

 

“Maybe I’m say other things.  Maybe I’m cry some,” Tater murmurs, so quietly that it’s almost drowned out by the noises his—Kent is going guess cooking.  If Kent wasn’t paying close attention, curious to know every word from Tater’s mouth, he would’ve missed it.

 

“Other things?  You said other things?” Kent questions, walking around the island in the middle of the kitchen to stand directly next to Tater.  “And you _cried_?  You fake-cried in front of George to get her to trade for me?”

 

Tater sighs and shakes his head, slowly setting down the knife in his hand.  “I’m not fake-cry,” he says, turning to look Kent directly in the eye.  “I’m—I’m cry because I’m not want best friend to be trapped and unhappy.  I’m cry because you mean much to me and I’m—I’m—”

 

Tater falters and lowers his gaze, and suddenly, everything that’s taken place between them since the moment after Kent threw that punch at Volkov clicks into place.

 

Kent knows that they’ve always had a hesitantly flirty friendship, their chirps always walking the line between best friends and maybe a little bit more.  And immediately after Kent threw the punch it was—well, it was still the same, but Tater going out of his way to see how he’s doing?  Sitting and listening to him rant for close to an hour?  Practically cuddling him on the couch?  That was different.  That was more.  And though Kent recognized that pretty quickly, he didn’t know what it meant

 

But it makes sense that something shifted, because Kent punching his own teammate for Tater (and for himself) was a pretty big sign, a clear indication to Tater that his feelings for him were strong and ran deep.  And so that night, in Kent’s apartment, that was Tater taking the cautious next step, a way of figuring out if his interpretation of Kent’s actions made sense.  And since Kent’s reaction to those steps was nothing but positive, Tater took his interpretation to be correct and—well, he went from 0-100 real quick in convincing George to trade for him.  And Kent can be _very_ oblivious, but not here, not in this situation.

 

“You’re in love with me,” Kent blurts out, and Tater’s non-reaction, outside of the tensing of his shoulders and slight flicker in his gaze, tells Kent he’s right.

 

“I’m not mean to go so far.  I’m not want to make you uncomfortable but you—you in much trouble and sad and I’m—I’m not stop myself,” Tater mumbles.  Kent gently grabs Tater’s chin and lifts his head up.  “Kent—”

 

Kent rocks forward onto the balls of his feet, pushing himself up to press a soft kiss to Tater’s lips.  Tater stays still for what seems like an eternity before kissing back.  He wraps an arm around Kent, pulling him in closer as he breaks the kiss.  Even as he does, their faces are still just millimeters apart.

 

“Thank you.  So much,” Kent murmurs against his lips.

 

“пожалуйста,” Tater murmurs back, which, lucky for Kent, _you’re welcome_ is one of the few words he knows in Russian, so he has ample reason to kiss him again.

 

“By the way, I love you too,” Kent says when they break the second kiss.  “But you’re also an asshole,” he adds, swatting Tater’s arm and grinning as he says it.

 

“Oh, I’m asshole?” Tater replies with fake indignance.

 

“Yes, you’re an asshole!” Kent giggles, taking a step back as Tater grabs a handful of something sitting out on the counter.

 

“I’m asshole?” Tater repeats, matching Kent’s step and trying to look threatening (though the grin he’s failing to suppress betrays him)  “How?”

 

“You j-just set the bar so high for any romantic gesture that there’s no way I could ever surpass it!” Kent replies, and Tater’s expression immediately softens as he steps back forward and cups Kent’s face.

 

“I’m think you find way,” Tater says.  “You always find way to surprise.”

 

Tater leans in and kisses him, and as he does, Kent feels something soft land on the top of his head.

 

“Hey, what was that?” Kent asks.  Tater just puts his hands behind his back and whistles innocently.  Kent reaches up and runs his fingers through his hair, pinching a bit of whatever Tater put on his head between his fingers.  “Flour?!” Kent exclaims as he looks at his hand.  “Oh, now you’ve asked for it,” he says, scrambling to snatch something from the counter before Tater can grab it all.

 

“You deserve for calling me asshole!” Tater replies as he takes off toward the living room.

 

“Come back here!” Kent calls, running after him.  When he steps into the middle of the living room, Tater is nowhere to be seen.  “Tater?”

 

Suddenly, Kent is being gently wrestled to the ground, Tater pinning him down to the carpet.

 

“Welcome to Providence,” Tater says, smiling down at Kent softly.

 

“You put flour in my hair,” Kent points out in between giggles.  “What kind of welcome is that?”

 

“You not like?  Hmm…I’m can give different welcome,” Tater replies with a smirk.

 

Kent’s eyes go wide and he feels his cheeks flush.  “I like the sound of that,” he stutters.

 

“I’m like sound too,” Tater says, his eyes darken as he dives in to kiss Kent again.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way, this line:  
>  _“You’re forgetting that the NHL’s biggest demographic, by far, is straight, white, socially conservative cis-males. Every single decision a team makes is based around that fact, and most will go great fucking lengths to make sure that that demographic isn’t even the slightest bit offended.”_  
>  was written before the NHL started their "Hockey is for everyone" month. Not to say that this suddenly rights all the wrongs the NHL has done, or that their execution of this has not been/will not be problematic, but I do believe credit is due for them being one of, if not the first professional sports league to really do something like this. A lot of teams still behave in this way probably will for a long time, but I don't believe it's the case with all of them anymore. Anyway, just wanted to throw that out there.


End file.
